


the calculation

by tonystarxk (romanoff)



Series: snippets [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Steve Rogers, Hate Sex, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Top Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 13:28:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7619905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanoff/pseuds/tonystarxk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One year post-Civil War, and the team are back together.</p><p>At least they're back living together. As in cohabiting the same space. 'Back together' is probably too optimistic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the calculation

**Author's Note:**

> ANOTHER SNIPPET
> 
> another post-cw thing. u know the drill, if you like this one, comment below.
> 
> This is not a Good™ story. These men are way too wrapped up in their sexuality and, tbh, act APPALLINGLY towards one another. It gets better but… this is a hate-sex story. Steve and Tony do not start out mushy and in love. They sort of get there. Sort of.
> 
>  Anyway, you might hate them. I guess understand that, after Civil War, the best and only way for many fic writers to resolve it is to write stories that accept Steve and Tony as very flawed ppl. Again, it’s hard to tag everything without jamming up the tag section, but if you find any of the themes in an R-rated or 18+ film difficult, you should probably steer clear.

Tony is a dismissive lover.   
  
Steve doesn’t know if he’s always been like that; he can’t imagine it. He can’t imagine Tony ever having thrust into Pepper with the passion of a man looking for quick relief and a fast fuck. He can’t imagine any of the countless women who can attest to Tony’s prowess ever having had to just lie there and take it. He can’t imagine Tony ever going through sex like this, so mechanistic, so without-love. Purely just the fulfilment of a basic need.   
  
Then again, those women – and men, most likely – probably never lied to him. Which.   
  
Yeah.   
  
It’s strange, how hard Tony took that betrayal of trust. Steve isn’t delusional – he  _knows_ it was a betrayal. But in the grand scheme of things, when compared to everything that they’ve done, everything they’ve kept from each other, it felt like a small one. It felt, genuinely, like he was keeping something from Tony that he really shouldn’t have had to know. And yes, it helped that in keeping that information to himself, he still had the potential to get Tony on Bucky’s side. Even though he didn’t. And even though they went to war.   
  
(Only Tony is allowed to manipulate, a bitter side of him thinks. Only Tony is allowed to withhold information and spin the webs. God forbid Steve ever do the same, or Steve ever place himself first above anyone else, just one time -- )   
  
Tony is grunting on top of him. Steve is working his own cock, huffing. Tony never talks in bed, doesn’t comment on anything, nothing, no dirty talk, no attempt at degrading Steve the way Steve  _knows_ Tony wants to. He does what he needs to do, and then he rolls off, curls on his side of the bed facing the wall, and leaves Steve to clean himself up. He usually falls asleep fast.   
  
Sometimes, maybe without realising, Tony will roll in the night. Then, Steve will hold him. Other than that, the contact they have outside of their late-nigh sojourns is few and far between. Tony keeps his distance and, as a result, Steve keeps his. He doesn’t ever suggest maybe they should talk about what they’re doing, or where Tony wants this to go. They never talk about Tony’s work. Occasionally, Tony might ask how Bucky’s treatment is going, and Steve will say well, and Tony will grunt approvingly.   
  
Steve is an early riser, but he knows that by the time he wakes up (usually around 05:30) Tony will already be gone, dressed for the day, either in his study or out on business. He will not return until 8PM at the earliest. He will join Steve in this bed; sometimes, he’ll fall asleep straight away. Other times, they’ll fuck. Tony’s face will sweat with a fierce intensity, and Steve can only imagine this is some kind of therapy for him. If Steve had to work with Ross all day, he’d probably feel the same way.   
  
And so here they are. Tony is lying, spent, on top of the sheets. It’s a warm night out, so warm even the AC can’t seem to push the humidity from the air. Muggy, and tight, like the promise of a thunderstorm. So Steve showers quickly with cold water, doesn’t bother dressing at all, and then lies out on the bed with Tony. Their legs barely touch, the tickle of Tony’s hair as close as they come to intimacy.   
  
Still, Steve should be grateful that he is even here, back home. He should be grateful that Bucky is allowed to stay with him, and that he is acquitted of all charges. Most of all, he needs to be grateful that Tony has made this happen, that he lets them stay here, lets them work, and that he continues to defend them to Ross.   
  
Steve doesn’t know what Tony thinks about their relationship; he knows that if a shady fuck twice a week is all Tony wants in return, then Steve is happy to oblige. In another world, he likes to imagine that they would have reached this point naturally, and Tony would hold him at night, let himself be held. That they would joke, and cook each other dinner, hold hands and talk. That their relationship would be real, not hollow, and not just a reminder of everything they have lost.   
  
  
Just like Steve had predicted, Tony’s side of the bed is empty when he wakes up. The briefcase that Tony had thrown to the floor last night is gone, as are Tony’s clothes. His toothbrush is still in it’s place, as is his razor, body lotion, and pills. Other than that, you wouldn’t know someone else occupied this space at all.   
  
Steve runs in the morning. He takes a well worn path around the compound, through the forest, past the lake, and then back again. He’s taken this route for the past three years (the year spent in Wakanda not counted, obviously). Sometimes, Bucky will join him, although he admits he never really got the hang of running for enjoyment. Sam is a regular, but he often stops after they’ve tracked the compound, citing regular human lungs as reason to go no further.   
  
It gives Steve time to think. He’s lucky, he knows, they all are. Life feels good, if not slightly tenuous. Sometimes Steve worries that what they have is fragile; everything is working so well right now, he doesn’t want to upset the balance. If he could freeze time here, he might. Bucky doing well in treatment, public support for their initiative. Tony in his bed, no matter how cold that might be, and Ross out of their hair. This is good. This could work. Steve’s worries, increasingly, are about how he is going to maintain this in it’s current state; anything could change in a moment.   
  
Case in point, when he returns to the facility, Ross is standing in his kitchen. Not Thaddeus; Everett, the short little bastard who has an air about him that makes Steve want to slap his face. He’s smiling, smug, making coffee like he owns the place and dumping the leftover grounds all over the kitchen island. “Morning, Steve.”   
  
“We didn’t know you were coming.”   
  
“I’m here for Stark, so why would you?”   
  
Steve doesn’t say anything and methodically tidies Everett’s mess.   
  
“I take he doesn’t tell you much, hmm?” Everett says, sipping, raising his eyebrows. “Well can you blame him?”   
  
“I don’t think it’s your business.”   
  
“Probably not. But it also sort of is, you know.”   
  
“Did Tony give you a time? Because he’d usually be out here to meet you.”   
  
“I’m early. Let the man work, I want to talk.”   
  
“I’m not very chatty. I don’t think you should keep Tony waiting.”   
  
“What are you, his butler? I guess he’d need one, since we seized the AI.”   
  
That bristles. Steve doesn’t like thinking about what it cost Tony to have them pardoned. “Tony doesn’t need a butler anymore than he needs to be disturbed. If you have something to say, say it, and clear out.”   
  
“I don’t know why you’re giving me orders, Rogers.”   
  
“Stop trying to provoke me.”   
  
Ross laughs. “Yeah, that’s true,” he says, and sips his coffee. “I am trying, aren’t I? I guess it rubs me the wrong way, you know? The fact you get to sit here and butt-fuck Barnes while the rest of us – “   
  
Jesus, Steve nearly breaks his neck. He places his mug down with such force he feels the base crack with the constrained motion. “Ross,” he says slowly “you need to get the fuck out of my – “   
  
“My?” Ross laughs “You don’t own anything, how could you – “   
  
“Everett,” Tony says, and he sounds exhausted. “You weren’t supposed to be here till two. I wish you’d called ahead.”   
  
Ross smiles sweetly, and stirs more sugar into his coffee. “I got an earlier plane. Are you ready? I could wait if you’ve got other business to attend to.”   
  
“No,” Tony says tiredly. “No let’s do this now. Have you brought the papers?”   
  
Ross holds up his case. “All here.”   
  
Tony holds out an arm. “Let’s go, then,” he says, trying on some of his old charm. He looks at Steve for the first time and minutely shakes his head. Steve realises then how fucking lucky his was Tony had stepped in; he thinks he might have actually hurt Ross if he hadn’t.   
  
Still, he wonders what was so urgent that Ross actually travelled here to talk to him. Usually Tony goes to Washington for business, so he can’t imagine why that would change. And it riles slightly that Tony fucked him last night but couldn’t bring himself to mention anything to his face. But isn’t that their relationship now anyway? They don’t talk about  _anything,_ let alone work.   
  
“I’m guessing you haven’t heard anything?” He asks Natasha. He thinks she must know what he and Tony do at night. Unlike the rest of them, Natasha has been there since the beginning and can read both of them like a book. Now, though, she shrugs.   
  
“You think he tells me anything?”   
  
“I was hoping you might have picked something up.”   
  
Natasha’s smile is sardonic. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m trying not to piss Tony off, you know? Something about my betrayal? I get the vibe he’s not my number one fan right now, Stevie.”   
  
“So you know nothing. You haven’t heard  _anything?”_   
  
Natasha sighs. “I don’t know. I figure – look, if I had to take an educated guess, maybe it’s about a job. But that’s – don’t take that as truth. You should ask him, Steve. I know you two are… close. Closer than the rest of us, at least.”   
  
“Still not close enough.”   
  
“Christ,” Natasha snaps “you can’t just slip him a simple question when he’s pounding you into the bed? Oh, Tony, you can take my ass but hell will freeze over if I ask you a valid question?”   
  
Steve is affronted. “What makes you think I’m the one who takes it?” He says, momentarily distracted.   
  
“Oh  _please,”_ Natasha laughs “look at you!”   
  
“That’s not – a valid reason!”   
  
“Steve. It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. As long as you two are doing  _something_ that doesn’t mean you’re down each other’s throats, even if that means  _literally_ being down each other’s throats – “   
  
“Oh, God, Natasha – “   
  
She laughs again. “I mean it. Ask him out for lunch, question him. He’ll talk to you Steve, he’s not – “ and she softens. “He’s not a bad man, you know. He’s just tired. I think… maybe if you reached out, he might respond.”   
  
Steve thinks Natasha’s being too optimistic. “I’m not sure you know him like I do.”   
  
“Probably. But I know human beings, a species of which Tony is apart, and you know what? We’re not all that different. So talk to him, sooner rather than later, and then this won’t end in tears.”   
  
Steve takes this advice at face value, begrudgingly. “Yeah,” he mumbles “yeah you’re probably right.”   
  
“What’s the worst that could happen?” Natasha offers, gently.   
  
“Could you… not tell anyone? About us?”   
  
“I’ve known for months, Steve.”   
  
“Good. But just – don’t. I don’t want to think about how Sam would react.”   
  
“Sam is only here because of Tony’s goodwill,” Natasha says carefully. “It might be helpful if you could remind him.”   
  
“I don’t think he’s ready.”   
  
“Yeah, well when you think he’s ready, he’s downstairs with Buck. You should go say hi. And then, if you still have an abundance of free time, you can help me with this paperwork.”   
  
“I think I’ll go say hi.”   
  
“Yeah,” Natasha snorts “that’s what I thought.”   
  
  
It’s miraculous, this machine. The B.A.R.F. Steve thinks the acronym is a throwback to when Tony used to make jokes, and he still likes to call it that, even when Tony took to calling it the ‘Neurone Sensory Modulator’ instead.   
  
Today, Bucky is sitting in café in Russia. Unusually for his Winter Soldier memories, his hair is short, and he’s wearing a crisp turtle neck, sipping coffee in what must be summer. The kremlin is hazy and bright in the distance, fuzzy in the blunt colours of the projection. Bucky doesn’t seem to be scared, or under pressure. He sips his drink, and then a woman takes a seat opposite him, hair red and carrying two martinis.   
  
“What is this?” Steve asks quietly. Bucky – the real Bucky – is staring at the scene in wonderment, like he can’t believe his eyes, cross legged on the floor.   
  
“An old one,” Sam whispers back through the side of his mouth. “It’s not – I don’t know if it’s a memory. Sometimes I think – he creates new ones, you know? Puts them in the system and pretends they’re real.”   
  
“Should we be worried?”   
  
“I think it’s harmless, Steve. I think… it’s good for him, to have – aspirations? Or good thoughts? I don’t know. But it makes him happy.”   
  
It makes Steve’s chest ache, though. This was a life Bucky could have had, maybe. If he hadn’t fallen off that train! If he’d never met Steve! What does it matter, if if if, their life is the way it is and it can’t be changed. It would be dangerous to try. And yet.   
  
He hadn’t known that Bucky wanted to go to Russia. Or that he’d had fantasies of sitting, drinking coffee, living a normal life. Maybe they could go. They’d be allowed to, what’s stopping them?   
  
( _Is it you Bucky’s fantasizing about?_ A voice whispers.  _He doesn’t want to go with you!)_   
  
Shamefully, it had never occurred to Steve that Bucky might want something more. A real relationship, with someone who wasn’t like a brother to him. It hadn’t even crossed his mind after all this time that Bucky might be ready to leave the compound and start  _living._ Could he, now? Finally? He’d come so far since Wakanda. Rarely,  _rarely,_ he has an episode. Obviously there are still nightmares, but that’s the same for all of them. And if Tony gave his approval, what’s to stop him? Hell, meeting someone, getting a job…   
  
It seems unlikely, a fantasy. But Steve sees the appeal.   
  
“I can hear you,” Bucky mutters, and he looks over his shoulder. “I’m not deaf, you know.”   
  
“Sorry,” Steve says, and he winces. “We were just wondering – “   
  
“If I’m unstable, yeah, I know. It’s crazy. But that’s what this thing is for, right? Creating the life you want to live?”   
  
“I think Stark meant it more for psychological healing,” Sam says with a small smile. “But however you get your kicks I guess.”   
  
“Wouldn’t you like to know.”   
  
Sam snorts. “Uh, Barnes? I have seen everything. Everything. There is nothing I don’t know.”   
  
So Bucky laughs and drags the receptors from his head. “You see that Steve? Violation. Your man is a bully, you know that? Got anything to say?”   
  
“Sam, play nice.”   
  
“Should I kick his ass for you Steve?”   
  
“I just get shit from you don’t I?” Steve says lazily, taking pleasure from the casual interactions, from the buoyant mood. “Well if I’m not needed, I said I’d help Natasha with paperwork.”   
  
“I’ll help,” Bucky says immediately. “It’s fine, I don’t have anything else to do. You go do you, or whatever.”   
  
“It’s fine,” Steve says, mildly confused. “I told her I’d help, she’ll give me hell if I don’t – “   
  
“I’ll help, I should help,” Bucky says again. “I should probably pull my weight, right?”   
  
“Nobody thinks you aren’t pulling your weight, if you need more time – “   
  
“Bucky will help, okay?” Sam breaks in. “Steve,  _Bucky wants to help Natasha._ So why don’t you go do whatever it is you need to do?”   
  
Steve blinks. “Right,” he says slowly. “Right, because – yes. I said I’d talk to Tony, I should – do that. I’ll do that.”   
  
If he’s honest, Steve feels at a loss. He doesn’t have anything to do, short of make a problem to solve. And with Wanda gone, and no one to train…   
  
He shouldn’t be bitter. For Tony to pay for Wanda’s school was –  _too_ generous. Steve suspects it’s a win win situation for him because he gets Wanda out of his hair but looks like all is forgiven at the same time. And Tony was probably right, because it’s good for Wanda to actually learn something, get a real degree, even if she never uses it. She had been back for summer break, and Steve had liked having her; she seems to have limitless time for him, playing chess, watching TV, training. It reminds him of something Tony had said, near the beginning of their relationship.   
  
They’d just finished fucking, and Tony was smoking. He’d grinned, because he knew Steve hated that, hated it when anyone smoked, but especially when that person had a bad heart and limited lung capacity. “You just want to be needed, you know that?”   
  
“Excuse me?”   
  
Tony had stubbed out the cigarette on the bedside cabinet and Steve had frowned. “You want to be  _needed,”_ he enunciated. “Whether it’s Bucky, me, Wanda, the world, whatever. Wanda’s going, Barnes is better, the world doesn’t want you, and so now you’re stuck with me.”   
  
“That’s not true.”   
  
“Oh yeah? And why else do I get to screw you?”   
  
“Guilt, mostly.”   
  
Tony had narrowed his eyes. “I see,” he’d said “I’m a pity fuck?”   
  
“No. But whatever helps you get out your stress, Tony.”   
  
And he’s grinned again, sly, cruel. “Yeah,” he’d said “see? You think you’re helping. What would you do if I turned around and changed my mind? Told you to clear out?”   
  
“You wouldn’t do that,” Steve had murmured. “Because you do need me.”   
  
And Steve had been right, because Tony didn’t deny him his bed. He also stopped talking to him after sex. But maybe it was better that way.   
  
  
He finds Tony in the study. He brings a hastily prepared burger and fries with a glass of wine, and ignores Ross’s voice in his head.  _You his butler now?_   
  
He pushes open the door regardless, and doesn’t bother knocking. He doesn’t want Tony turning him away, not now. And so when Tony looks up, mildly shocked, he smiles as best he can and raises the tray. “I bought lunch?”   
  
“No.”   
  
“That’s settled then,” and he kicks shut the door. “You spend too much time in here.”   
  
“I’m working.”   
  
“And? What, you don’t need to eat?”   
  
“I’m not hungry yet.”   
  
“Yes, you are,” because Tony won’t have eaten since breakfast early this morning, if he ate at all. “And while you eat, you’re going to tell me what Ross wanted.”   
  
Tony goes back to his papers. “That’s none of your business,” he says bluntly, and scribbles out signatures.   
  
“Tony if it affects all of us we deserve to know.”   
  
“It doesn’t effect any of you.”   
  
“And what was it?”   
  
“The president’s offered me a new job.”   
  
Steve blinks. “Which is?”   
  
“An ambassador. Kind of. Ambassador for Inhuman Affairs.”   
  
“Which means?”   
  
“Anything that Ross doesn’t know how to deal with. Asgard, aliens, superpowered individuals. Those who fall under the umbrella of ‘inhuman’.”   
  
“And… are you going to take it?”   
  
“I’m already doing the job. I might as well get a paycheck for it.”   
  
Steve sits back in his chair. “Well… congratulations, then.”   
  
“Nothing to congratulate.”   
  
“On the fantastic promotion.”   
  
“Great.”   
  
“Now you get to rule us officially, right? I mean, you’ve pretty much tightened your fist anyway, but at least now it’s on paper.” It provokes the reaction Steve had wanted to provoke; Tony’s pen slips on the page and tears a hole in the paper.   
  
“You think that’s what this is about?” And Tony’s eyes are flashing. “After everything?”   
  
Steve leans back in his chair and shrugs. “Hasn’t that always been what it’s about? You versus me? Everyone says so. Everyone’s always said so, it was only a matter of time.”   
  
“I stop you from caving in Ross’s head this morning, but that’s just for me, right? Giving your Wilson, Barnes, Maximoff, a home? Paying for her – by the way – waste of a degree at a top college? Barnes’ treatment? Getting your asses off the line, giving up my – my AI, the way I did. Fuck, a good bitch would have at least a bit of gratitude, you just take and take – “   
  
“A good bitch?” Steve says incredulously “Where’d you get that from? You sound like an eighties pimp, Tony.”   
  
“Did you spread your legs for T’challa, too? Is that what you do now?”   
  
“Calm down, old man. You wanted it.”   
  
“Old man seems rich coming from somebody who still watches the Wizard of Oz at Christmas and gets excited when he sees the colours.”   
  
“Nice. Good one, Tony.”   
  
“Thanks, I practice in the mirror.”   
  
Steve sighs inwardly. God, he hates himself. He hates that he tries to provoke these reactions from Tony, what does he want, attention? Not really. Mostly he just wants Tony to acknowledge him.   
  
“Look,” Steve says “I didn’t come here to – be a bitch,” and Tony’s smile is quick, slight, and sardonic. He hides it quickly, and turns back to his papers. “I wanted to know why Ross was here. I had a right to know why Ross was here. If you want this team to work… there’s going to need to be compromise. Until Rhodes is better, until Vision comes back, you’re on your own here and you know it. You need me.”   
  
“Bet you love that. That’s your thing, isn’t it?”   
  
“Doesn’t matter. The only way you get Sam, Wanda, Clint, Bucky and Natasha is if you have me on board. You run us officially, fine. Without us, the treaty means jack shit.”   
  
Tony pauses. “You’re not subtle, did you know that?”   
  
“It’s your job to be subtle. I just want the best for my people.”   
  
Tony looks back down at his page, and he looks so weary that Steve feels bad for pushing him. “Why didn’t you just stay in Wakanda?” He asks quietly. “Wouldn’t that have been better? For you, for everyone?”   
  
“Easier for you, you mean.”   
  
“Yes, actually. I could have got on with my life Steve. Instead of – “   
  
“Instead of this.”   
  
“I don’t want to play mediator between you and the world until I die. It’s tiring, and it’s boring. I’m constantly trying to be one step ahead of Ross, of the Government, the UN, NATO. Do you know how exhausting this is? I didn’t ask for this, I didn’t want this. I can’t stop, because if I stop, you bow out, and I can’t afford to leave this world unprotected. Some things are bigger than us, did you know that? So I stick at it, hoping that – you’ll come to your senses, I guess. But don’t think for a second I want to be here, that I enjoy – at the age of fifty – living with a bunch of kids like I’m in a frat house. That I don’t have a family, or a partner, or the fact I’m hurtling towards the end of my life with no one to cry at my funeral. Don’t think I want this. Don’t think for a second I’m here for fun, or because this is how I get my kicks. Because I don’t.”   
  
Steve doesn’t know what’s worse, the fact that Tony feels this way or that he can’t even bring himself to shout, that he says it all in this awful, dispassionate tone. So Steve is silent, and his food sits untouched, and he hates himself for letting Tony’s rejection rile him up as much as it did. He hates himself for provoking Tony in this way.   
  
“Anything else to say?” Tony asks quietly. “Because I have work to do.”   
  
“If you want this to work, you can’t freeze us out. You can’t freeze me out.”   
  
“I know that.”   
  
“Then why do you?”   
  
“Because I don’t like you, Steve, or your friends. I don’t like having to share the same space as any of you. Because we used to be like – we used to be good friends, and then you threw it in my face. You didn’t trust me, you probably never did. It hurts, is all. It hurts. Is that answer to your satisfaction?”   
  
“Will you come to bed tonight?”   
  
“Why wouldn’t I?”   
  
Steve is moving before he really knows what he’s doing, and then he’s kneeling between Tony’s legs and tugging at his fly. “What are you doing?” Tony hisses, and he pushes Steve away by the brow. “Why now?”   
  
“You seem stressed,” Steve soothes, and he strokes Tony’s leg. “I could help. At least make me feel like I’m earning my keep.”   
  
“You’re fucked up, did you know that?”   
  
“Do you want this?” And Steve can hear the pathetic croon in his own voice, hates how aroused he is just thinking about it. “I can make you feel good. If you fuck my mouth, you’ll feel better. C’mon, after everything you don’t like me on my knees?”   
  
This makes Tony uncomfortable, Steve thinks. Good.   
  
“I don’t want – you to feel like you have to do this.” And Tony’s eyes are almost kind – maybe it’s pity?   
  
“After everything, this is what’s worrying you?” Steve asks derisively. “Really?”   
  
Tony smells of musk and cologne, the same cologne he’s always worn, so often it now clings to his skin. He’s thick in Steve’s hand, and heavy on his tongue, and Tony groans when Steve takes him in one, along his shaft. He stays silent, mostly, except for the occasional sharp intake of breath, a grunt as he thrusts, shallow, past Steve’s lips. His nails dig into Steve’s scalp. Steve feels dirty, and then needed, and then dirty again, in that order.   
  
  
That night, Steve has a bad dream. A nightmare. Bad enough that, after he’s finished drowning, falling, being walked like a dog on Red Skull’s leash, he finds himself vomiting into the porcelain toilet in his ensuite, retching and retching and retching until his stomach muscle tremble and nothing more comes up.   
  
He sits there, trying to slow his breathing. His skin is clammy; if he wasn’t who he was, he’d be worried this was the beginning of a flu. Maybe it is, and this is his immune system’s way of fighting it off. Or maybe he was just scared.   
  
Either way, when he turns, Tony is standing in the doorway. Steve doesn’t know how long he’d been there – he’d been sleeping when Steve stumbled to the bathroom. For a moment, Steve wonders if he’s sleepwalking; his eyes look vacant, and he’s so quiet. But then he asks “Are you okay?”   
  
Steve draws the back of his hand over this mouth. “Go back to sleep,” he croaks.   
  
“I thought you had…” Tony’s words are slow, sleep-slurred “gone. I came to find you.”   
  
“Yeah, you made the trek all the way to the bathroom. Good for you.”   
  
Tony frowns. “Sorry, I…” and he trails off. Steve stands abruptly, washes his face, his hands, with cold water. “I have nightmares,” Tony says, slowly.   
  
“I know. I hear them.”   
  
Tony swallows. “If you want – we can make them better.”   
  
“How?”   
  
Steve thinks Tony is half-sleepwalking, because he then blinks, turns, and climbs back into bed. When Steve does the same, some five minutes later, he’s fast asleep. But when they’re both under the covers, and Steve is drifting off to sleep, Tony’s legs tangle with his, and he rests his head on Steve’s shoulder.   
  
  
Still, Tony is gone when he wakes up, so Steve decides he needs to make amends. He fixes up breakfast, with eggs, toast, bacon. Some pancakes, syrup, blueberries. He figures Tony will be in his study, and with no Friday to check with, he brings it up without knocking, as usual.   
  
Tony isn’t there, though. The door isn’t locked, but Tony just – isn’t there. Steve sets the food down on the coffee table and considers calling, but then he spots Tony’s phone on the desk. He could be anywhere; jogging, walking, the compound is huge and he could be in any room –   
  
He spots something, on the desk. The edge of a schematic poking out from under paperwork. Curiosity is what prompts him to look, because as far as he knows, Tony has stopped building almost entirely. But it’s a plan, for an arm – an arm for Bucky.   
  
There are scribbles noted around the side, not just measurements but little reminders:  _18\. get in touch with DNC – RNC if tamil predicts lead_ and  _dates for thanksgiving fundraise: lisa/carol (too old??)/destiny (too much???). Call pep for birthday_ has been scribbled out, as has  _birthday present 4 steve – too much? Flowers/tie/cufflinks? Thong??_   
  
It’s a strange insight into Tony’s day to day that Steve would not otherwise get. There are other things, too; essays on technology Steve couldn’t understand, a manuscript for a biography someone has written with a note saying it’s heading for publishing next year. Steve didn’t realise he  _wrote_ so much. There are thirty-page papers on ideas that have never been published, theories – not just on science – but on ‘the Inhuman issue’ and even weighing up the democratic system against Wakanda’s regency. It’s fascinating, engrossing. Steve hadn’t –   
  
Realised. Tony never would have told him. And now, this is a gross invasion of privacy.   
  
He places the papers back in the best order he can, hoping that Tony won’t notice. The food has grown stale, and still Tony hasn’t returned.   
  
Sighing, he leaves a note telling Tony to come find him. He writes that he wants to have a talk, that they  _need_ to talk. And then he leaves.   
  
  
He searches for Bucky, and finds him with Natasha. They’re on the lower level, standing outside the wide glass room that hold B.A.R.F, talking in low voices. “What’s wrong?” Steve asks “No Sam today?”   
  
“He’s been in there for hours,” Bucky says, and he sounds concerned. He looks concerned, actually, there’s a deep groove in his brow. Natasha’s holding his arm, squeezing tight.   
  
“Sam?” Steve asks, quietly. He can’t imagine – maybe. Maybe, Sam would. Steve knows you can get lost in B.A.R.F; he tried it once, and couldn’t go back. “I’m sure he’s – he’ll be okay. I’ll go – “   
  
“Tony,” Natasha corrects. “Tony’s been in there since the early hours of the morning. He’s locked the door and he won’t come out.”   
  
“Oh,” Steve says weakly. Shit. Shit this isn’t – about last night, is it? Maybe it is. Or maybe this is just part of Tony’s therapy, Steve knows he’s taking pills to help with – with whatever, because he won’t actually tell Steve what’s wrong. He’s obscured from view by one of the large metal workstations, and Steve can only get glimpses of what he’s seeing. A flash, water. Then he sees Pepper, Rhodey, himself and Ross, all sped up, like Tony is watching his life in fast-forward.   
  
The door won’t accept his hand-print; he knocks, loudly, and presses the intercom. “Tony,” he says “Tony, are you alright in there?”   
  
“He won’t respond, we’ve tried,” Bucky murmurs. “Your best bet it – “   
  
“I’m okay,” comes Tony’s voice. He sounds tired.   
  
Steve gives Buck a pointed look. “Tony, we’re worried. You’ve been in there awhile. And Bucky needs to get his therapy.”   
  
“Don’t make this about me!” Bucky whispers frantically; he hates imposing on Tony anymore than they have already. Tony’s voice comes back, clear, through the speaker.   
  
“Can he miss today?” He asks. Natasha’s eyes grow clouded.   
  
“He can, if he has to. But it’s not good to spend so much time in there,” she says, and Tony doesn’t respond. Or at least it looks that way until he says:   
  
“Okay. I’m getting out.”   
  
The hologram powers down, the colours cut out. Tony unlocks the door, scanner turning green, and lets them enter. He brushes down his pants and smiles wanely. “Sorry,” he says “she needed a tune up.”   
  
“Sure,” Steve says slowly, clearly disbelieving.   
  
“What?” Tony spits, voice sharp. “You think I’m lying?”   
  
“Tony,” Natasha says gently “no one’s – saying anything.”   
  
But Tony’s eyes linger on Steve, watching him, mistrusting. “I’m glad the therapy’s going well,” he manages, just barely dragging his gaze to Bucky. “Do you think you’ll be able to get on active duty soon?”   
  
Bucky stumbles; he does, with Tony. Steve doesn’t know if it’s the guilt or panic, or maybe because, increasingly, Tony is so like Howard. Most likely it’s because Tony tried to kill him, and blew off his arm. “Hopefully,” he gets out.   
  
Tony grunts, nods. “And how’s that arm?” The tension in the room rockets suddenly, and Steve finds himself standing on the balls of his feet, unintentionally readying himself for a fight.   
  
But Bucky is easy. He says “Okay. Mobility isn’t great, but then the last one was a full prosthesis.”   
  
“When you get back to work I’ll see about making you a new one. I’ve had some plans drawn up but – been busy. It would be a priority, though, if you just… gave the word.”   
  
Bucky nods at this, and Tony meets his eyes for the first time. It strikes Steve that these two men are so awkward around each other, so frightened of what the other might say, because both have good cause to hate the other. Tony clears his throat and sticks his hands in his pockets. Bucky keeps nodding, staring at a spot on the ground. And then Natasha laughs, and wraps her arm around Bucky’s waist, and asks Tony if he’ll join them for dinner.   
  
“No,” Tony says, and he does sound genuinely apologetic. “I have work. Press releases to go over, document to sign, etc. But, uh – thanks. I’ll see you guys around, I guess.”   
  
“Tony,” Natasha sighs “you can’t avoid us all your life.”   
  
Tony rolls back round and spins on the back of his foot. “Who said I was avoiding any of you?”   
  
“Common sense and my own two eyes. I haven’t seen you in days.”   
  
“Yeah well why don’t we swap jobs and then see what happens?”   
  
“I’m not saying you’re not busy, I’m just suggesting that you might be using work as an excuse to avoid some people.”   
  
“Some people?” Tony asks, incredulous. “’Some people’ are right here.  _You_ are some people. I’m not avoiding anyone because of what I might say, I’m working 24/7 so you don’t end up in jail you fucking ungrateful – “   
  
“Hey, man,” and Bucky raises a hand, hovers it over Tony’s chest and puts himself between him and Natasha. “She was asking you to dinner. You don’t need to get like that, okay? It was a harmless question.”   
  
Tony seems to be hovering on a precipice. “What are you making?” He asks cautiously.   
  
“Pasta.”   
  
A beat. “With that sauce you used to do?”   
  
Natasha gives a small smile. “With the special sauce, yes.”   
  
Steve actually sees the point where Tony gives in and relents. “Fine,” he says “but I can’t stay long. And I’ll have work after. Maybe just a half-hour, I don’t know.”   
  
  
Three hours into their dinner, Bucky is drunk. This seems to mildly amuse Tony, who, despite his claims that he would need to leave within thirty minutes, has been content to watch Buck’s increasingly embarrassing attempts to woo Natasha.   
  
“This pasta is amazing,”   
  
“Really? Yeah, no, I’ve always preferred European women anyway,”   
  
“The sauce is more red than your hair,”   
  
“Your waist is so small how is it so small?”   
  
“I get m’looks from my da’, he always said I was – “ a hiccup “ – a looker, don’t you think? I think you agree, right?”   
  
“You’re so pretty,”   
  
“Y’know – two plus two equals – wait that’s not how – Steve! Steve how did that line about the two people equalling one go?”   
  
And for the most part, Tony seems relaxed. It’s nice, watching Buck enjoy himself and seeing Natasha coyly egg him on, clearly secretly quite pleased. Sam keeps yelling at them while he tries to watch tennis, and Steve sits with Tony, talking to him, for the first time, without an antagonistic undercurrent.   
  
“You like the wine?” Tony asks, and Steve thinks it might have gone to Tony’s head a little bit because he looks flushed.   
  
“It’s good. I’m no connoisseur, sorry. I’m just – “   
  
“A boy from Brooklyn, I know.” Tony laughs, rubs his brow. “Yeah, yes, we know. You’re just a simple Brooklyn boy, aren’t you?”   
  
Steve leans in, conspiring. “Is this about the blowjob?” He whispers “Because I could – “   
  
“No it’s not about the – I mean, what was that, by the way?”   
  
“You looked worked up, I thought I could – “   
  
“Yeah, I get it, you’re a kinky star, I meant more where did you get that  _practice?”_   
  
Steve leans back and smiles. “I don’t know, you pick it up.”   
  
Tony shivers. “God you’re so – “   
  
“Pure?”   
  
“You’re a deviant, you know that? In every way. Oh my God.”   
  
“What?!”   
  
“I’ve just – I’m your sugar daddy, aren’t I?”   
  
Steve does laugh at that, because – it’s apt, isn’t it? “Nah,” he says “you give everyone free stuff, not just the ones who sleep with you.”   
  
Tony drinks down the wine like it’s water. “You want some?”   
  
“It would be a waste.”   
  
“It’s the taste, Steve. You won’t get something like this in awhile.”   
  
It’s nice to see Tony like this. Relaxed, well-fed, red cheeked. It’s almost like before, back in the tower, when Tony was happy and Steve – naive. Bruce had been there; Clint would drop by. That had been good. That had been solid, like rock, earth, tentatively maybe even family.   
  
That’s over, now.   
  
“I think Bucky has a crush on Nat.”   
  
Tony snorts into his glass. “You think?”   
  
Steve smiles, and builds up courage. He makes himself look Tony in the eye. “This thing, between us.”   
  
“Yikes.”   
  
“I want – I don’t know, Tony. What do you get out of it?”   
  
Tony sips. “I don’t want to talk about this. C’mon, I’m in a good mood,” and Tony forcefully rubs his hands together, sits up straight. “Let’s talk about something else.”   
  
“I think you’re holding yourself back. Maybe – I don’t know, Tony, maybe you should get out there. Find someone who you could really have a relationship. A real relationship, not this – thing, that we’re doing, where we sleep together but don’t  _talk_ and you don’t even like to admit it’s happening – look! You’re trying to avoid it, even now, I can’t – “   
  
“You want to talk about this thing?” Tony hisses, spinning close. “Let’s talk about how you like get down on all fours and beg for it Steve, Christ. You want to act like I’m fucked up? You, you have some serious self-esteem problems. Get help, and stop treating me like your goddamn therapy, and then we can talk about  _healthy_ relationships.”   
  
Steve swallows his drink, hard; too much at once, and suddenly it tastes very bitter. “I don’t know,” he admits “you’re right, I don’t know. I like it, I guess. Makes me feel better.”   
  
“Yeah,” Tony sneers “you and every fucking slut in the history of the world.”   
  
“Tony,” Steve says quietly, and Tony recognises that he’s been too harsh. He sighs, backs down.   
  
“Look,” he says “if it gets your rocks off, fine. Maybe – maybe I like it too, is all I’m saying. Maybe I like having Captain America on his back. I don’t like talking about it, or thinking about it. I’m not looking elsewhere because – because I expended my ability for a healthy relationship on Pepper, and even that went south. So yeah, you’re nearby, and you like taking it and I like giving it, okay? You – fulfil my need, I fulfil yours, and it’s nice to share a bed with someone at night. I got used to it, I don’t want to give it up, and I’m not sad enough to actually pay someone to sleep with me. It’s that simple.”   
  
“You want to get that in writing?”   
  
Tony smile is sharp. “Sign a contract? Get your signature? I’ll have the document framed.”   
  
Steve leans back. “Whatever,” he says “I don’t know. I just wanted to make sure that – you weren’t making a mistake.”   
  
Tony heaves a long exhale. He looks at his drink, and then back up. “You want to go?” He asks quietly.   
  
“What?”   
  
He gestures with his head, and smiles slowly. “To bed. Now.”   
  
Steve licks his lips. “You think they’ll notice?”   
  
“What, Romeo and birdbrain? No way. Sam won’t take his eyes of Sharapova’s ass and Barnes is too gone to care. C’mon.”   
  
“You got something planned?”   
  
Tony shrugs. “Not really. I’m just kinda – feeling it.”   
  
“I don’t know Tony. I don’t want to get pregnant.”   
  
“You never used to be funny. When did you get funny?”   
  
Steve has to let himself go – really, let himself go. When Tony pushes him against a wall, it’s a struggle not to fight back, not to use his strength, and that’s why he loves this. Tony can take him on the bed, and all Steve has to to is grit his teeth and takes the sheets in his hands and try to not to fall apart. For the first time, Tony actually presses kisses down his neck as they fuck, he runs his hands over Steve’s body, takes his hair when they kiss and fists his cock. When it’s over, and they are both spent, Tony lies there on Steve’s chest while Steve tries to focus, and breathe, and just accept that he can take it, that there are some things he can’t control, and it’s glorious.   
  
“We should do this again sometime,” Steve pants.   
  
“Yeah,” Tony mumbles, dazed. “Definitely. The anger is – that’s good.”   
  
“You like taking it out on my ass?”   
  
“I must. Didn’t know I had it in me.”   
  
Well now Steve’s had it in him, and it’s different from all the other mechanistic fucks Tony has given him. It almost came close to that first night, that first time, when they have come back from Wakanda and Tony was cold, if not blatantly hateful, at Steve’s presence. That first time, when Steve had tried to take Tony, and Tony had spit at him, and kicked him back, and somehow Steve had ended up on the bottom instead.   
  
Tony rolls and lights up a cigarette. Steve wants to vomit. “When did you start that?” He grumbles. “Why? Of all the nasty habits…”   
  
“It helps me relax.”   
  
“It’s bad for you.”   
  
“Everything is bad for you and I won’t be alive that long anyway.”   
  
“You’ve starting coughing at night, did you know that?”   
  
“It’s not the smokes. My lungs haven’t been right since 2008.”   
  
“Smoking will help, for sure.”   
  
Tony shuts his eyes and frowns. “Leave me alone, Steve. I’m not the only one hell-bent on self destruction.”   
  
“I’m not hell bent on anything, Tony.”   
  
“Sure. Shut up and go to sleep.”   
  
“Will you be gone tomorrow morning?”   
  
“Considering I basically missed a days work, yes. Now shush.”   
  
  
Steve sleeps fitfully, if barely at all. He feels like there is still an energy under his skin, a burning, and he wants to get out, run, fuck, do anything to shake it out and wind down. But the bed is warm, and sleep is better, and Tony is soft next to him, breathing easily and slowly. It’s better to stay.   
  
He’s dragged out of a lull by the crying. Quiet, as if straining not to be heard, and when he turns his head he sees Tony’s shoulders shaking.   
  
Carefully, he sits himself up. “Tony?” He asks, voice low. “Are you – okay?”   
  
The crying cuts out, abrupt. Tony’s voice is hoarse. “Go to sleep,” he croaks.   
  
“Are you hurt?”   
  
“Go to sleep, Rogers.”   
  
A beat. Steve slides back down, under the covers. Some minutes later, the crying resumes. Silent, shaking.   
  
They don’t mention it in the morning.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are GREATLY APPRECIATED and if you have any questions or prompts find me on MY NEW writing blog [romanoff](http://tonystaxrk.tumblr.com/)


End file.
